


Just A Hug

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Pining, hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:46:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can't take watching Sherlock just sit. He's not himself. Something has to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Hug

After Sherlock was shot and he was sent to bed rest. John hugged Sherlock.

It wasn't a normal, let me cheer you up, hug. It was a hug that was selfish. John needed to feel Sherlock was okay and warm and breathing. 

Sherlock had been sitting at the kitchen table, refusing to go to bed or even the couch. He said something about newspaper clippings, but the more John watched him, he saw the man picking up scissors then setting them down, lifting the newspaper then folding it closed. He was thinking.

John got tired of it. Not tired of Sherlock, but tired of himself. All he ever did was watch Sherlock and never intercede him. So, he stood. 

His hands clenched on themselves, his mouth puckered back and forth, and he nodded. Sherlock hadn't noticed he had moved at all until John was walking up to the side of the table.

Mouth opening as if to say something, he shut it swiftly as John came around and knelt on one knee. His arms lightly, barely touching, wrapped themselves around Sherlock's torso. His face was serious as he rested his head against Sherlock's chest. 

Warm? Yes, Sherlock was indeed warm, against anyone's protests. Breathing? Yes, a little faster now. Was Sherlock okay?

John looked up to his friend, face returning to a question silently asking 'Are you okay?'

Sherlock responded slowly, the hand (whose wrist dawned an old hospital bracelet) rose and crossed to John's cheek. Funny how one simple thing can change in a snap. The hand was warmer. 

And as an answer to John's question, Sherlock's thumb brushed up his cheek and down almost brushing the crease of his lips. 

'Yeah, I'm fine'

The stare lasted for a good moment. John taking in this affectionate touch. The eyes that were locked but roaming at the same time. And the musk of shared breath.

John broke it. The hug, the stare, the touch. 

He stood.  His hands clenched on themselves, his mouth puckered back and forth, and he nodded.

"Thank you." Sherlock didn't quite stutter the words, but they came out as a child would say them: sensitive and full of meaning.

John smiled at that, softly, and turned back to his seat. 

Sherlock continued onto his newspaper clippings. Picking up the scissors and making his first cut through paper. A small glimmer of hope shone on his lips.


End file.
